


Vacations Ain't What They Used to Be

by Corycides



Series: Tumbling On [10]
Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-04
Updated: 2013-12-04
Packaged: 2018-01-03 12:27:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1070460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corycides/pseuds/Corycides
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It could be worse.</p><p>Bass darted down the length of the boxcar, the vibration of the engines against the soles of his boots. A bloody sword in one hand and Charlie’s small, cold fingers squeezing the other. If he had to be handcuffed to anyone, at least he worked well with her. She moved with him, easily falling into mirroring his body language. Watching his back.</p><p>It was like having Miles there, only smelling better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vacations Ain't What They Used to Be

**Author's Note:**

> xoloves47’s prompt: WOULD LOVE A CHARLOE HANDCUFFED :)

It could be worse.

Bass darted down the length of the boxcar, the vibration of the engines against the soles of his boots. A bloody sword in one hand and Charlie’s small, cold fingers squeezing the other. If he had to be handcuffed to anyone, at least he worked well with her. She moved with him, easily falling into mirroring his body language. Watching his back.

It was like having Miles there, only smelling better.

Three Patriots. Two Patriots. One-

Charlie got him, sword cutting him open across the stomach. Blood splattered up her face, bright against pale skin and under tangled, tawny hair.

‘What now?’ she asked. Letting go his hand she rattled the cuffs, scowling at the short bar shackling their wrists together. ‘We’re stuck, we’re going the wrong way and Miles is expecting us.’

Bass sheathed his sword, oddly awkward with one half of his body anchored to someone else, and stepped over the bodies. Charlie grabbed his hand again and followed him, grimacing as she planted her foot squarely between one Patriot’s shoulderblades.

‘Fuck Miles,’ he growled.

It had been a year. 12 months of fighting the Patriots and Miles still used the location of his son like a whip.Sometimes Bass doubted his old friend actually knew where the boy was - but if was the only lead he had.

‘You don’t mean that,’ Charlie said, blithely confident.

Bass grunted and wrenched at the bars holding the doors shut, rusted metal pinching at his callused fingers. It slipped out of its moorings and he heaved the doors open, yanking Charlie into his side. Her breasts squashed against his arm and she grabbed him for balance, the wind tugging her hair out in tangles. Fingers in his shirt, twisting the fabric over her knuckles, she twisted around to look down at the lake below.

‘Not again,’ she groaned.

The door at the far end of the carriage rattled and popped, the lock groaning as the weight the Patriots were throwing against it bent. Bass caught Charlie’s waist, tugging her close, and - against his will - grinned at her.

‘Hold tight.’

She did, head buried in his shoulder and hand clenched in the waistband of his jeans. He closed his eyes for a second - he was getting to damn old for this - and jumped. Wind rushed past them, screaming in their ears, and he hit the water feet first. The impact jarred up into his hips and then the water closed over his head. He gulped in a mouthful, the cold of it making his throat spasm, and - for the first time - him and Charlie slipped out of sync. Legs fouled each other, elbows banging as they flailed. Bass grabbed Charlie’s shirt and shook her, her eyes huge and colourless in the water.

He pointed up. She nodded. He kicked to the surface, hauling her up with him. The hit the surface, spluttering and gasping for breath. Charlie glanced up, eyes tracking the train.

‘We should get to shore,’ she panted. ‘Get out of sight.’

He nodded, chin dipping into the water.

 

* * *

 

The fire cast a dull, warm glow in the darkness, pine needles and green sticks sparking and spitting. Bass hunched over it, letting the heat cook his front until it was almost sore. Next to him, Charlie sat with their hands on her thigh, picking at the lock with a bit of wire she’d pulled out of her belt. Her complete lack of...awareness of his fingers laying over her thigh, just a twitch away from her groin, was a bit insulting.

‘Damn it,’ she muttered, looking up. ‘I can’t get it.’

Bass patted her knee. ‘Try in the morning, when your fingers aren’t frozen.’

He bent down, pulling Charlie’s shoulder down with him, and started unlacing his boots, fighting with the soaked wet laces. ‘What are you doing?’

‘We aren’t going to dry like this,’ he said. ‘You need to strip.’

He dragged his boots off, socks coming with them, and pulled his shirt over his head, stripping the wet cotton off. It tangled around the cuff and he sacrificed the sleeve. 

‘...that’s the worst pick up line ever,’ Charlie said, voice rough and surprised.

‘Just strip. I won’t look.’

She didn’t move for a second then leaned down over her knees to fumble one handed at her boots. They stripped down to bare skin - eyes averted and shoulders bumping - until they were sitting back to back by the fire. Charlie had, Bass discovered, really bony shoulderblades.

‘What are we going to do.’

He wanted to say ‘nothing’; he wanted to let Miles rot waiting for them. Except that one slender hope his son was real and alive. That he had a family. It was enough to keep him dancing to Miles’ tune, for now. He leant his head back against Charlie’s.

‘Tomorrow, we get dressed, get this off,’ he lifted their linked hands. ‘And go help Miles raid the treasury.’

He dropped their hands back into the dirt, his fingers bumping against her thumb. Almost idly he shifted over to put his hand on top of her’s, his fingers stroking the delicate, taut lines of tendons under her tanned, lightly scarred skin.

‘What are you doing.’

‘Thinking,’ he said. ‘We work well together.’

‘I hate you.’

It lacked the passion it used to have. Bass knew it was true, and that she had the right, but it wasn’t all she felt. He shrugged, knowing she could feel it even if she wasn’t looking.

‘I could have been handcuffed to someone worse, is all,’ he said. ‘Your mom.’

‘Yeah,’ Charlie agreed with a sigh. There was a guilty pause. ‘I didn’t mean...it’s just...’

She stopped, because all roads led back to why she hated him he supposed. ‘Aaron,’ she said. ‘That would be so weird.’

They fell into companionable silence for a while. Then Bass shifted, bumping his shoulder against Charlie’s.

‘Course,’ he said. ‘It could be better too.’

‘Why?’ Charlie asked suspiciously.

‘I need to piss.’

Nothing and then she jabbed an elbow into his rib. ‘Not funny.’

‘Not trying to be.’

She gave an ostentatious shudder. ‘That’s gross. Just do it one handed.’

‘Please,’ he said. ‘Have you seen my dick? It’s like a snake, one handed isn’t going to do it.

‘Ewww!’ Charlie spluttered, trying to scoot away from him and getting pulled up short by the cuff’s short play. ‘You’re disgusting. I can’t believe you said that to me! Gross.’

A chin bumped his shoulder, wet hair trailing over his shoulder. ‘Did you just look?’ he asked, laughter bubbling out of him past years of stress and weariness. ‘Charlie, are you a peeper?’

‘No!’ she protested. ‘I wasn’t-’

‘If you wanted to see it, you only had to ask.’

‘I didn’t want to see!’

‘We had agreed not to look.’

They sat in the firelit dark, naked as Adam and Eve, and laughed at each other, trading bumps and elbows. It could definitely have been worse.

Eventually Charlie stopped giggling and leant back, resting her head back on his shoulder. Bass turned his face into her hair, not quite kissing her but close.

‘I meant it about needing to piss,’ he said.

 


End file.
